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Lear ‘Razor’ Hik
‘Captain’
‘Butcher of Drek River’
‘Man from Atetalerso’
Some guy in Badum
Part II
-The Albino-
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> 11th of Sextus (first month of summer) of 174 NC
>
> The pine woods near Drek River and the heavily defended by Sovya’s Karls bridge leading to Kadrek
>
> Warbands Rebellion third year
>
> Three days after First Legion’s commander Lord Miles Lennox’s disastrous flanking foray into the frozen wilderness to circumvent the fortress at Yepehir guarding the road through the Howling Pass and break the stalemate.
> -
> The blood had turned to a block of crunchy red ice so Lear used his clenched fist to break it and free the half-buried sword’s handle. He got the weapon out of the compacted snow and scrapped the rest of the frozen gore on the rough black bark of a nearby tree trunk. The wind blowing through the trees, heavy branches crackling and the snow feeling like fine sand that hurt your eyes.
>
> “Horse,” Bolt yelled a warning, Cofol face covered in strips of cloth with only the slanted eyes showing. Lear grimaced and signed for two mercenaries to have their shields ready and then he stepped out into the open. The latter mostly a euphemism for the space left between two groupings of northern pine trees made by some big animal that wanted to move fast during the night.
>
> A wandering white bear, some nervous Troll or a giant of sorts according to their local guide.
>
> Lear was of the opinion that the cold of winter had weakened the trees and then the lesser cold of the summer had finished the job but he was open to all explanations. The narrow face of the Lesia nobleman watched nervously at the armed soldiers flanking his animals and cursed at the younger of the two officers escorting him to solve the problem.
>
> Lord Jacomo D’Orsi had a right to be annoyed in a sense. He was paying their wages officially. But as everything in life, what was written on a piece of paper didn’t necessarily hold more truth than what the local guide believed had created this path through the forest.
>
> “Captain sir,” Nathaniel Wyncall said nervously trying to calm down his mount. The second officer being Tussio D’Orsi, Lord Jacomo’s young cousin. “The High Baron wants to know if the woods are cleared.”
>
> Edge chuckled hearing the officer’s query from where he’d stopped to have his boot repaired. Rita smacking his arm to make him stop.
>
> “Reckon there’s enough of them woods here to have all the land from Asturia to Anorum fit in nicely with room to spare,” Lear replied hoarsely. “We’re still looking for survivors.”
>
> “Gather the men and push towards the river,” Lord Jacomo spat angrily. “The scouts found Sir Marcus. Duke Holt is livid mister Hik! He raised a hell at headquarters and the Commander ordered units to penetrate the woods from both flanks. I have two Dukes looking to place the blame for this mess on someone and it ain’t gonna be me!”
>
> “Who found him?” Lear asked pursing his mouth.
>
> So much for the Knight of Roses. Eh.
>
> “Lord Emerson Lennox. Pushed towards the Bridge but he needs help to take it or we’ll have another noble funeral in our blasted hands!” Jacomo replied and glared at him. “We need to help out and make a good show of it.”
>
> “The ice might not hold for a crossing,” Lear warned.
>
> “I don’t care. Finish this mister Hik,” Jacomo replied. “I want the rebels broken afore the end of Sextus!”
>
> “Harsher measures might be needed here Baron,” Lear grunted.
>
> “My brother’s wife had a daughter. They named her after my mother,” Jacomo informed him furious. “The girl is unwell and old Lady Eleonora wrote to me. I’ve had enough of this god’s forsaken place!”
>
> Jacomo had two younger brothers from his late father. Dino who was serving as his aide and Sir Laurent who had been killed six months back leaving a pregnant wife and son behind whilst attached to the mercenaries. The Baron had taken the young widow in to raise her children.
>
> “Redmond has moved his camp up near the river. There’s a way to cross without using the bridge,” Tussio informed the thoughtful Lear from atop his own horse, feeling smug next to his cousin. Lear eyed the young officer.
>
> “How do you know?”
>
> “They caught a half-dead Northman near the bodies. Helped them identify Sir Marcus and gave up their whereabouts.”
>
> “Emerson didn’t know the knight’s face?” Lear asked rubbing his beard with a gloved hand to clean some of the frost away.
>
> “There was no god darn face!” Jacomo spat incensed. “They had taken the man’s head back to Kadrek!”
>
> Eh.
>
> “Wyncall get the men moving. Find the other officers. You too D’Orsi. You are on the roster so get to work!” Lear ordered soberly.
>
> Tussio glanced at his uncle but Lord Jacomo signaled with his head to do as he was told. Then with a last look at the frozen surroundings the Baron of Atetalerso turned his mount around and left them.
> -
>
>
>
> Three hours later a clad in her winter coat Rita brought him a cup of hot tea, the ranger’s eyes smiling at Lear’s expression. “Nathaniel says they are ready to move. Three groups. We have ten men needing medical attention. They might be faking it.”
>
> “Leave them behind,” Lear retorted.
>
> “D’Orsi won’t like it,” Rita warned.
>
> “I’m running the outfit. The Marquise is paying our wages. The Baron can write him a letter or tell him in person once he’s back in Lesia.”
>
> “Yes sir,” she replied and Lear glared at her. “You can’t break the Northmen easily,” Rita added, vapors forming over her red frostbitten cheeks.
>
> “Everyone breaks,” Lear reminded her and the woman’s eyes darkened.
>
> Edge approached them at that moment carrying a leather bag covered in iced snow on the outside and half-filled with rough salt in the inside. He dropped it on the ground between the two of them.
>
> “Praise the Allgods Lear, these are not criminals. They fight for their freedom. You know that,” Rita hissed and shoved his chest furious with both arms. With a peeved glare at the guilty face of Roland Edge the Nord female walked away from them.
>
> “She’s gonna hate me,” Edge griped sadly. At some point you need to tell her how you’re feeling Roland. “I can’t do this anymore Captain,” his friend added.
>
> Lear set his jaw stubbornly and then glanced at the darkening Sovya sky above their heads. It’ll be night soon, he thought. No time to waste.
>
> “You need to see the present,” Lear finally told his friend with a grunt. “Whatever they were afore or how they were perceived at one point or another, they have soaked their arms in blood.”
>
> “This cuts both ways Captain.”
>
> “Absolutely,” Lear agreed and glanced at the bag. “Bring it along.”
>
>
-
16th of Tertius (2nd month of Spring) 194 NC
Badum
Kingdom of Kaltha
Lear eyed the citadel rising above the market’s buildings, the walls guarding the west gates of the city on their back and the port’s facilities now hidden behind them. A soft breeze was coming from the large lake, Canlita’s brackish waters at their highest but the well built on the rises city wasn’t affected by the tides.
For the most part.
On a clear day with low humidity which was a rarity around these parts, one could see the peaks of the Great White Mountains in the distant horizon rising above the green wilderness that was Bearcub’s Forest.
Jelin’s Spine.
Badum was a large city port, but less soldiers patrolled its streets than Tigerfall Castle. Duke Charles had brought the First Foot near Riverdor. Lots of young faces in them recruits, Lear had noticed. His eyes stopped on Mark their own young recruit brought in to replenish losses and boost their numbers.
He pursed his mouth. You can’t really replenish shite, Lear decided. Or stem the god darn losses. What’s gone, it is gone forever.
“Find a cheap inn with a stable,” Lear told the frowned Roland Edge. “You’ll stay with Mark there. I’ll see to find one as well deeper in the city. We’ll meet in the market in two hours. There, by the meat stands.”
“Mostly fish that I see Captain,” Edge griped.
“It’s all meat Edge,” Lear retorted.
“Yet the smell isn’t as agreeable.”
“What’s agreeable about butchered meat?”
Mark cleared his throat interrupting them. “Why do we split up?”
“To confuse any ruffians,” Edge retorted and clicked his tongue to turn the horse around. “Don’t get yourself killed,” he warned the examining the crowd Lear. “I ain’t dying alone.”
Mark furrowed his brows to his words but Edge slapped his arm as he moved past him and forced the aspiring ranger to come along, bringing the mules with him.
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Lear crossed Badum’s colorful market and rode slowly through its narrow streets towards the city’s upper districts. Realizing the old neighborhoods on the rises weren’t easy to move in and out, he turned east again and headed towards the gates right at the edge of the sloped terrain. The East Gates led to the coastal road which in turn headed for Lotus River and the village that bore its name. Edgefort after that and the land of the Lakelords.
Seven kilometers after one crossed the gates the road branched north into the wilderness and the thick forest. The monks of the Five had built a town there of sorts. A community of monasteries that was a religious destination for those seeking to touch the divine.
Find forgiveness for their sins in this life.
They called it the Irde Shrine.
Three of those settlements existed with the same moniker in their names.
History aside, pilgrims still came to visit them or expend some idyllic days surrounded by nature. The hunting grounds around Irde quite rich with game.
Lear found an inn and tavern next to the main road leading to the East Gates. He walked his horse in the alley leading to the stable and tied it at a stall. A young Issir stable-hand approached and greeted him switching to a bad Lorian accent.
“Salutations. Talked with Gudo?”
Lear licked his lips thoughtfully.
“Who’s he?”
“Gudo Toorn. Gudo’s Place?” The Issir smiled and pointed a thumb at the tavern across the alley. “You need to pay for the spot in advance.”
“How would you know I paid?” Lear queried looking about them.
“There’s a small street-facing window right there. I can call to the cook and ask him.”
“Right. So then you take the horse?”
“Keep it until its owner arrives to pay the fee. It’s two coppers. Four if I feed him.”
Lear got his purse out. “Feed the horse. I’ll talk with Gudo for a room.”
“Yes sir.”
Lear paid him and walked back out of the alley. He headed around the corner for the two-storied tavern’s door and walked inside, the wooden floorboards creaking under his boots. No music playing, but enough patrons conversing or having their lunch. Some fishermen drinking on a corner and a group of four armed, hides-wearing hunters sitting at a table near the window next to the door.
Gudo stared at him from the counter.
No other Lorian in sight.
Lear pursed his mouth, hand reaching for his large razor casually and then walked towards the tavern and inn owner.
“Greetings,” the middle aged Issir wearing the apron said with a lukewarm smile. It’s the weapons and the armour, Lear told himself. You make people edgy mate.
Might even be the face. More stitches there than on yer old coat.
“Looking for a room?” Gudo guessed and reached for an empty bronze cup after Lear’s nod. He poured some whiskey in it. The color a honey-gold, or shitty-gold. “It’s on the house,” he added and slid the small bronze cup to him over the polished surface.
Lear stopped it with his hand and closed his fingers around the cup. Brought it to his mouth and sipped at the strong drink.
“Any other Lorians in the premises?” Lear asked with a grimace.
“Not this week. But next month we might see some. Are you from Asturia?”
“Much further than that,” Lear replied and looked about him.
“Came with a boat?”
“I rode.”
Gudo nodded and looked at his own hands on the counter. He reached for a cloth to wipe at the surface some. “So… are you renting mister?” His words trailing.
“Lear. I paid the stable boy to feed my horse,” Lear replied. “I’ll rent for tonight. Think whether I’ll stay more and tell you all about it come the morrow.”
Gudo nodded and went to fetch a large iron key from the wall behind him.
Lear took the key and pointed at the bottle. “How much?”
“A silver. But I’ll need the bottle back.”
“Hmm. Give it here,” he told Gudo and grabbed the bottle after finishing his cup.
He turned around and walked slowly towards the hunters group still discussing betwixt themselves. They had finished their meal and were now dawdling whilst slow-sipping at their goblets.
Beer in them, but reckon any liquid will suffice, Lear thought and stopped at their table.
“Greetings,” he told them placing the bottle on the table and the Issirs stopped their talk to look at the foreigner.
The older of the bunch glanced at the bottle afore replying.
“Looking for help to finish that stranger?” He asked.
“Looking to donate it.”
“A philanthropist,” the old hunter told his friends. “What’s the lure?”
Lear raised his gloved hand and used three of his fingers to scratch at his bearded jaw. He needed a shave but one needs a mirror for that, unless his eyes are young enough to use a pool of water.
Lear’s wasn’t.
“Some basic info,” he rustled and the old hunter nodded.
“What about?”
“A group of Lorians came through Badum a couple of months back,” Lear replied.
“In the middle of winter? Not many tourists do that. Were they devout?”
“They weren’t tourists,” Lear replied. “But they might want to use the hunter’s paths to lay low.”
The old hunter finished his beer and reached for the bottle. “No hunters would hunt during winter,” he told him. “But they’ll work as guides for the pilgrims.”
Lear let go of the neck of the bottle and the Issir took it. Poured some whiskey in his goblet and gave it a twirl.
“Are the tourists staying in Irde?”
“Not without knowing someone. They can stay in the inn there but it’s expensive and frankly has no comforts. Most leave after a while unless they are into it I suppose and decide to ask the monks to take them in.”
“Would they?”
“Sure. But you need to work to live with the monks. Dedicate yourself to all manner of harsh tasks to enter a monastery. It’s not all prayers mind you nor do they have comforts. They eat what gods provide through effort and avoid importing any goods from the city.”
“No trade with Irde?” Lear asked.
“Only basic stuff. Hides for wine or grain. They come with their mules every three-four months,” the Issir replied. “It’s a tough life. Even Naossis’ priestesses have it rough. No fancy clothes but what they make.”
“Women stay there?”
“Not the kind of priestesses you see in Valeria. Them nuns are more robust and manly,” the hunter explained and his friends chuckled.
Lear couldn’t see Laudus leaving like a priest or chopping wood and hunt for food. Then again he might not have to.
“Have caravans brought any ‘fancier’ city stuff lately?” Lear asked and the hunter refilled the goblet afore answering.
“No civilian caravans on that route mister. Why are you looking for them?”
“What about Beren Cruz?” A younger hunter asked and reached for the bottle as well.
“Who’s he?” Lear asked.
“A local merchant. Has a hides and leather business,” the old hunter replied with a frown. “Beren won’t sell anything extra. No one would unless the monks ask for it and it’s unlikely they’ll do that out of the blue. Even less likely Beren will dedicate a caravan on that route. Beren works the Tollor road. By the way Irde isn’t run by tourists’ friend. It’s a place of worship.”
Sure but it’s a remote settlement in the middle of nowhere.
“Name’s Lear. How about a smaller group to carry supplies?”
The old hunter sipped at his goblet. “We work with Beren. He’s not working the forest route. What the monks want they come and get it,” he finally said with a glare at the younger hunter. “You can take your bottle.”
“Keep it,” Lear replied with a grimace. “Too strong for my stomach.”
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Lear stepped out of the tavern intending to head back to the stable, take the horse and look for that hides merchant afore returning to meet up with Edge and Mark at the market. The two of them were searching that other part of the city. While standing at the entrance of the inn he noticed the Bank’s square brick building across the main street. Lear had picked Gudo’s place for that reason.
Keep an eye out for his ‘at this time inconvenienced’ former employers.
Half a dozen of fancy horses watering themselves at the adjoining stable. The Bank of Trust had quarters bought for her higher-ranking staff right next to the bank. The two buildings separated by a very narrow alley not even a meter apart.
An underground vault could be reached from that second building also. But it was as much a trap as a way to reach the gold housed there. The second building was full of paid guards. A comely lithe Lorian female with tightly made blonde hair caught in a round bun had stepped on the porch of that second building. A clad in a leather doublet athletic Lorian with reddish-black hair coming to stand next to her a moment later. The man wasn’t over thirty so he was young by Lear’s standards and truth be told looked more like a Nord-Lorian half-breed.
A sinister but cultured face and sporting a fine sword. Another set of blades on the saddles of the horses. Expensive cavalry boots without strings. Mostly worn in Lesia. The woman turned her head and stared at the tavern Lear was standing. There was something there vaguely familiar, Lear thought. Something vaguely familiar with her escort as well.
Lear had a thing for faces. Always remembered them. Still while the young couple was familiar, he was certain they haven’t met afore.
“Eleonora,” the man said a little frustrated. “We are moving out love.”
Lear furrowed his thick brows, the young woman nodded in reply to her escort’s plea and walked to her horse. She parted her long coat and pushed it back to reveal a pair of snuggly-fitting leather trousers underneath and then jumped on the saddle nimbly. She glanced one more time towards the watching bounty hunter, then turned the horse around and trotted away. The man following after her a moment later.
Could be nothing, he thought. But they don’t look like clerks to me.
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Lear arrived at the large emporium and workshop near the east walls of Badum, half a kilometer from the Gates half an hour later. He climbed down from his horse, tied it to a post outside the building and walked towards the Issirs working in there, the stench of the boiling leather and strong chemicals used in the procedure suffocating. Lear coughed up, his eyes watering and asked for the manager. An Issir worker pointed a finger at the corner of the large building and Lear strolled there still clearing his throat when he reached the heavy door.
The bell rang when he pushed it open. The interior cool and well illuminated by the large windows at the front. Some racks with leather jackets and coats decorating the walls. The room smelling of leather and wood. A middle aged Issir stood up from behind an office desk to approach him.
“I’ll have someone show you around,” the Issir explained.
“Looking for the manager,” Lear replied.
The man’s face was lit up with a merchant’s smile. “You’ve found him. Beren Cruz,” he said warmly and tended a hand. A large gold ring on it with his initials. Lear clasped his forearm in the Lorian manner. “How can I be of service mister…?”
“Lear Hik.”
“Not familiar with your business,” Beren said walking back towards the office desk with a wave for Lear to follow him. He pointed at a leather armchair. Everything inside the room was dressed in leather. “Are you hailing from Asturia? Islandport? Your accent doesn’t ring of Regia.”
“I’m from Lesia,” Lear replied leaving it at that.
“You’ve made quite the journey to reach our little corner of the world,” Beren said with a surprised nod and reached for a ledger and a quill. Lear had made even bigger journeys to reach even further corners of the world. In this continent or the one across the pond. “You’re looking to order in bulk then?” The merchant asked now in business mode.
“Not looking for an order, but I’m here on business just the same.” Lear replied with a frown. He didn’t have the funds to grease everyone for info and while Tarsus had fronted them a modest sum the moment Lear told him who he was, Lear would rather keep the coins to use for his own plans. The Bank would probably charge him more than give him a loan after the mess in Eikenport.
“I thought you run an outfit… given all the weaponry. Is that a razor? Good grief,” Beren said with a restrained chuckle.
“Mostly use it for shaving,” Lear replied and added with a pause. “When I have the time.”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“Well, I could use it to cut rough hide for sure. Might have something similar as a matter of fact hah-hah,” Beren sobered up and stared at his ledger. Lear stared at his ledger as well to glean anything but stumbled upon the matter of young and old eyes again with him having the latter. “You are not here to order mister Hik?”
“I want to learn whether any bulk of supplies have gone up the forest road towards Irde,” Lear replied straightforwardly. The door was closed behind him. Bell on it and everything. Beren would either be helpful or he wouldn’t. Either way Lear would know.
“What manner of supplies?”
“Winter clothing. Hardtack, grain biscuits and salted meat. Liquor or wine. New mattresses, clothes, boots, hunting gear, camping gear. Tools.”
Beren stood back with a frown. “I’m in the leather business. Some coats as well. Not really dealing any other stuff.”
“You could try it. In exchange for hides.”
“You don’t understand, the monks bring them here. Hunters as well. I then re-sell them to Tollor and Riverdor. It’s a bad year sure but not bad enough to force me to change inventory.”
Lear pushed back on the comfortable chair. The leather made it slippery so after a moment he decided the design wasn’t practical.
“What is your business mister Hik?” Beren asked working at his gold ring with a thumb.
“Looking for some fugitives,” Lear replied hoarsely.
“Locals?”
“Lorians. Mostly.”
“Duke Charles runs a tight ship.”
“From Riverdor?”
Beren smirked in agreement seeing that he was familiar with the local politics. “It’s been a rough couple of years. Half a decade of trouble since the war started,” the merchant said. “Then the mess with the Lakelords. Badum didn’t have much luck.”
“Lots of cities are in a worse state,” Lear countered. “Couple of them stand leveled if I’m not mistaken. Which I’m not.”
“Can I be truthful here?” Beren asked.
“It would be nigh beneficial for both of us.”
“Duke Charles shouldn’t get involved in our local affairs.”
“Who else would? Does Lady Aafke have any power?”
Beren grimaced. “Nobody wants to even fathom Duke Dolf stepping his foot here,” he admitted. “But we can’t have Charles dictating policy and treating us like second class citizens. Taxes are through the roof. There’s a mandate for citizens to enlist in the army if they are of age. But where is it? The army is in Riverdor. I say let Riverdor fund Duke Charles ambitions.”
“Petition the High Regent,” Lear offered.
“Bah,” Beren snorted. “No one wants to take the risk. Charles has eyes everywhere these days. You’ve seen the patrols.”
Hmm.
“Say someone wanted to avoid the Duke’s eyes,” Lear started.
“Criminals have flocked to Tollor and Pascor, last couple of years.”
“Still. Badum is vital to reach Riverdor on this side of the Canlita Sea,” Lear insisted. “Way I see it, you need a presence here to funnel all them goods garnered in Tollor and Pascor. Not to mention all the stuff folk want out of Asturia, Islandport or the lands of the North.”
Beren rapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully.
“Kaltha isn’t a good place for fugitives to hide. We’re stricter than the south.”
“For my fugitives it is much better than Regia at the moment and Lesia was out of reach,” Lear replied nonchalantly. “Not to mention I’ve seen criminals aplenty in Issir lands mister Beren. Why, in all lands really.”
“Caravans don’t head for Irde. Not mine.”
“Are there any others?”
“The monks have their mules and donkeys. They come down twice a year,” Beren started but Lear had heard all that before. “Irde isn’t a good place to hide. Where? Monks are not accepting people in easy because they guard their relics and the darn inn there is primitive and run by a dwarf that hates humans.”
“What about Naossis priestesses?”
“They won’t take a male. The have vowed celibacy to only love their Goddess,” Beren explained. “Uher’s monks are… difficult to live with. Tyeus’ believe in everyday struggle and sleep outside with the elements and Ora’s disciples are creepy to begin with.”
“What about Luthos?”
“The inn is Luthos’ monastery,” Beren said making quotes at the last word.
Uhm.
Lear puffed out. Maybe your hunch is wrong, he reasoned with himself.
This is a dead-end. Not to mention Laudus would have trapped himself in or around the settlement if his pursuers reached the junction. What then? “Is there a way towards the mountains?”
“Through you mean. The Narrow. But you need to cross the forest and then climb the canyon. The terrain is ungodly and only monks know the way.”
“Why monks?”
“The mountain path is a backroad to Ikete Shrine allegedly.”
“The Crimson Forest?” Lear asked.
Beren nodded and then tightened his mouth thoughtfully. “What?” Lear asked noticing he’d slipped up there. “I can pay for the information mister Beren.”
The merchant breathed out and rubbed his forehead with a hand. “There’s word in the streets some use it to smuggle goods from the capital. To avoid getting taxed by two Duchies and a Barony.”
“Some?”
Beren grimaced. “Unlawful creatures Mister Hik. You don’t need to get involved with them.”
“The man I chase butchered a king,” Lear spat. “Literally. They found him in pieces Beren. People won’t stop coming.”
“Now it makes more sense, your interest,” a pale-faced Beren said with a nod.
“Would they use their ‘smuggling ring’ to resupply a small outfit hiding in the forest in secret?” Lear asked calmly.
“I suppose they would for a hefty fee,” Beren replied. “They are not saints Mister Hik despite operating near monasteries.”
Lear nodded. Laudus could have paid them if he had a man that knew the local gangs. He needed gold for that though. A group that large needs two to four mules of supplies per month at the minimum. Maybe twice that number since they didn’t know how many of Laudus’ cronies were still with him. Say every two months if they eat less and enjoy hardships which I bet they don’t. Still that’s a four to six man job at the bare minimum to escort through the forest. Lots of wages and missed profit from the smuggling business. Mayhap the man visited the bank? No bank in Tenor or Aldenfort but there is one right here in Badum.
A former Master of Silence probably has a few accounts to fall back on, in case everything goes tits up.
And it had.
Lear got his purse out but Beren waved his hand dismissively. “I need to know a name to make contact with the smugglers Mister Beren.”
“There’s an old warehouse at the docks. The easternmost side under the uplands. Has a road behind it. It leads to the beach at the base and loops around the rock wall.” Beren started after sucking at his front teeth. “It comes out at the shores some kilometers from the east gates. The beach is rocky there and steep but if you turn north for the main road… you’ll end up near the junction.”
“Does Pascor unload there?”
Pascor smuggled goods all over the Canlita Sea. It would have been foolish to believe they had stopped coming to Badum because of Charles.
“Yes. During the nights,” Lear replied. “But you can use the path as I said to run stuff in and out of the city unseen.”
Lear stared at him intently.
“Look for Albino. Rumor is he runs the place,” Beren told him with a tired voice.
“Is that a name?”
“I have no idea,” Beren replied.
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Lear walked out of Beren’s office and walked towards the workshops. He heard a horse approaching from behind but kept walking towards his mount at the same pace. Reached it and went for the reins when the horse stopped behind him with a nervous neigh.
Ah.
He turned around slowly and gazed at the man riding the stallion, the sun directly above their heads making the stranger’s hair appear copper in color. The guy from the bank earlier, Lear realized.
He glanced behind the large horse, angling his head and about twenty meters away Lear spotted the woman with the fancy riding skills standing atop her own horse. Comely face wriggled in disgust at the stench emanating from the workshops.
The well combed man raised two fingers over his left brow in salute. “Awful place to meet again,’ he said in a refined Lesia accent.
“Haven’t met ye before,” Lear retorted and placed a hand at the rear of his horse. A slap there and he could send it on the newcomer.
“Actually you did,” the man replied with the hint of a smile. “I was a bit younger then,” he added. “The building much better ventilated.”
“Was it a bank?” Lear asked narrowing his eyes.
“For you perhaps,” the man replied solemnly. “For us it’s our home.”
For us.
Son of an expensive whore.
“Well you ain’t a Merck given the color,” Lear rustled and smacked his lips while the young man raised his copperish brows amused. “So ye must be a Mclean.”
“I’m Fausto,” the man said a little impressed. “You are Lear Hik.”
‘Well, that’s quite the surprise,” Lear retorted mockingly since it wasn’t. “Now that we’ve established we know each other, how about telling me why you’re here Fausto?”
“You owe the bank a contract mister Hik,” Fausto Mclean noted deictically.
“I took a difficult job and I failed to deliver losing my men,” Lear rustled. “I also didn’t get paid so let’s call it even, which it ain’t since you lads fucked up the plan attacking Eikenport.”
“Expect a lawsuit after our investigation finishes,” Fausto warned him calmly.
“That why yer here? Investigating? Is that what Requisitions does these days? How’s Manuela by the way?”
“My sister is busy handling other matters.”
“I bet she is,” Lear taunted him and eyed the woman watching them from her horse. “Is that D’Orsi’s niece?”
“That… is my wife,” Fausto hissed.
Yeah. Fucking Jacomo just couldn’t keep her out of yer hands.
“Why drag her along?” Lear asked and Fausto smiled reservedly.
“What are you working on Mister Hik?” He asked. “Badum isn’t the best of destinations.”
You know darn well.
“I’m retired. Gang’s split up. Sort of run out of coin.”
“Yeah,” Fausto said with a grimace of disbelief. “Bolt still around? A roof anywhere near?”
“Bolt bought a farm in Eikenport,” Lear spat angrily.
“Edge?”
“Fuck off lad,” Lear warned him. “It’s a friendly advice.”
Fausto pursed his mouth. “As courtesy for your past employment I advise you to stay retired Mister Hik. The old man really likes you for some reason,” he said ominously and pulled at the reins to turn the horse around.
“Why is the Bank interested Mclean?” Lear asked loudly and Fausto paused with a scowl. He glanced around but none of the workers appeared interested in their conversation.
But you don’t know that, Lear thought with a smirk.
“The Bank wants normalcy returned,” Fausto finally said. “Looks to help iron out problems and open routes of communication.”
“With Lucius?”
Fausto smacked his lips.
You won’t answer if it’s true.
The Mclean scion nodded once.
Aha. I see.
“Goodbye Mister Hik. Enjoy your retirement,” Fausto told him and trotted near his wife.
Lear watched them galloping down the street towards the city’s center for a moment deep in thought.
-
17th of Tertius 194 NC
Four hours before dawn
Badum’s Port
“God damnit Lear,” Edge cursed looking nervously his way. Not that he could see Lear’s face in the darkness of the docks. “Snap out of it. Ain’t yer fucking fault and it’s been over twenty years now!”
“What?” Mark asked standing near the corner of the dark building and Edge snapped at him.
“You keep yer eyes on the plaguing door!”
“You’re the one making too much noise old bones,” Lear counseled. “And it stayed with me alright? About the same time you started yer thing wit Rita.”
Lear cursed himself inwardly. He shouldn’t have brought it up.
“Sod off. Ain’t the same thing,” Edge cussed though he did it in a lower voice. “And I’ll do whatever I plaguing want.”
Lear sighed deeply and then approached Mark to look over his shoulder. The warehouse had a front of about twenty meters with the door being near the other corner.
“Just that guy,” Mark informed him. “I think he’s sleeping.”
“Not with a dagger in his hand,” Lear countered. “He isn’t. Keep yer voice low.”
With the docks so near and the waves splashing on them, they could get away with some noise but not too much.
“Requisitions is here you think?” Edge asked when he returned to him.
“Aye.”
“Fausto. Probably sent by Manuela,” Edge murmured. “Is he any good?”
“It depends I reckon,” Lear replied. “He’s trained obviously. They don’t lack coin.”
“Our fool is related to Diana Merck,” Edge said with a grimace.
“Probably gotten the tip from Marion. They talked about it in the Calcote household.”
“What’s the bank’s interest with whomever killed King Jeremy?” Edge asked and half-unsheathed his sword nervously.
“Fausto claimed they want to serve them to Lucius,” Lear replied.
“What do you think?”
“We don’t see what’s underneath the carpet,” Lear said pursing his lips and made a sign for Edge to remain silent.
“Wagon,” Mark whispered, using his mouth to emphasize each vowel separately.
“Fuck is he doing?” Edge wondered with an angry hiss.
Lear shushed him hearing the wheels rattling on the docks paved ground and the drawn-horses neighing as they approached.
“Rush them?” Edge asked hearing the wheels as well.
“Can you kill the driver?” Lear asked Mark and the young man ogled his eyes in panic highlighted by the moonlight.
“Shoot the driver?” He croaked. “Why?”
“I want the wagon stopped,” Lear elucidated. “I’m open to suggestions. Want to kill one of the horses instead?”
Mark licked his lips slowly.
“Son, ye got to start loading this shit,” Edge urged him.
“Shoot the horse,” Mark repeated.
“In the head,” Lear added and signed for Edge to get his blades out.
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“What…?” The driver of the covered wagon gasped seeing one of his horses collapsing on his front legs.
The man guarding the door of the warehouse twisted around, dagger in hand. Edge sprinting towards him. Sprinting might sound impressive but it really wasn’t and Edge stopped after about ten meters breathing heavy and unable to speak.
“Shit,” he gasped hoarsely when the walking briskly Lear reached him.
“Hey!” Lear barked and glanced back with a glare at Mark not to shoot a bolt through him. The reloading his crossbow ‘ranger’ started moving sideways to keep the outlaws in view. “I’m looking for Albino!”
“What do you want?” The driver asked and Lear stared in his Issir face unsure. Then at the ruffian holding the dagger.
“What’s in the wagon?”
“Fuck do you care? Are ye a constabulary?”
Edge started coughing. “What did that fucker just say?”
“Get down from there,” Lear ordered the antagonistic Issir.
The driver reached for something on the seat next to him. The horse moved that would be the one still breathing and the wagon turned with a creaking sound that reverberated inside the warehouse as the guard had opened both large doors. It bounced off of it’s walls, straight through the fifty meters long building. The wind blowing from the other side making the opposite journey and blasting Lear in the face.
“There’s another door. Damnation!” Lear cursed and Edge glanced at him perturbed. The driver stood up taking his chance, left arm holding a long-shafted axe he made to hurl towards them. Mark’s bolt penetrating the Issir’s chest to the nock, practically disappearing in his sternum. The impact shoving the man backwards and twisting him once afore he plunged headfirst for the concrete tiles. The axe clattering down between the horses.
The second Issir ruffian rushed Edge, who seemed still unsure on what was going on, but Lear unsheathed his sword and chopped the man’s arm off a handbreadth below the elbow with a savage cut. The blood jumped out of the wound in an arc, splashed Edge in the face as the Issir flailed his severed limb about with screams that echoed inside this relatively empty part of the docks. Edge put a stop to the ungodly ruckus plunging his own dagger under the Issir’s jaw with so much power, blood came out of the shuddering crook’s eyes.
Lear saw none of that as he was already sprinting through the dark warehouse towards the double doors hanging open on the other side than the one they had waited. Edge was heard cursing behind his back for Mark to go fetch their horses.
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Lear got out of the backdoors of the warehouse, the heavy shade of the plateau rising not a kilometer away making the darkness turn a black so thick you could cut it with a blade. You couldn’t really, but it seemed an appropriate expression given the timing. The bounty hunter paused, his heart thundering in his chest and breathing heavy. His ears ringing and the blood pumping so hard in his arteries, he felt it drumming at the base of his neck.
Like a muffled waterfall.
Then he heard horses clopping inside the warehouse and lost all poetic near death mood. A flushed Lear turned around and waited for Edge and Mark to approach.
“Did ye see them?” Edge asked hoarsely.
“Nah. They must have slipped away the moment we arrived. Someone must be watching the entrance to the docks. Tipped them off.”
“So what if they’re watching? We look suspicious ye reckon?” Edge asked a little perturbed and glared at the pale-faced Mark as if he was the culprit.
“Maybe I missed?” The young man croaked, obviously troubled with the other matter.
“Lad you killed him dead,” Edge said a cough ravaging his chest and stooped to spit a heavy blotch of phlegm down. “God damnit that was clogging me up.”
Lear climbed on the saddle with a groan and used a cloth to wipe the sweat from his neck. “We follow the beach, look for lamps or any light,” he said hoarsely and looking at the devastated ranger he added. “Nice shot kid.”
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They caught up with the wagon an hour later. It had stopped by the road, probably looking to avoid a returning patrol as if they knew the guards schedule in advance.
Which wasn’t that surprising, Lear supposed riding next to the wagon carefully. A boot hanging from the side of the seat the first thing he noticed. The Issir the boot belonged to staring at the clear night sky with glassy eyes. Lear stooped over the saddle after removing his glove and touched the side of the man’s neck.
“Still warm but not too much. Twenty minutes,” he told Edge who had rode to the middle of the large gravel road leading to the East Gates troubled.
“A quarrel?” The aged warrior asked.
“An ambush,” Lear retorted with a grimace looking at the knife wounds on the neck and chest of the driver.
“What now?” Edge asked and looked at the shaken Mark uneasily. “He needs a bottle of rum and a pair of tits fast.”
“He’s fine,” Lear grunted, circling the covered wagon to check inside. Packed provisions, a couple of sacks with what looked like grain and potatoes. “These look like supplies.”
“Anything of value?”
“Potatoes?” Lear said with a shrug and Edge started laughing.
Lear clicked his tongue and walked the horse near the chuckling warrior. Edge slowly stopped laughing seeing his expression and assumed a pensive look.
“There should be more dead bodies from those escorting the wagon,” Lear said.
“Now you think it’s a ruse?” Edge grunted. “Will ye make up yer darn mind?”
“A good one. Ruse that is.”
“Not for that guy!”
“We don’t know if he was part of the same gang,” Lear reasoned.
“Is that not murder still?”
“Sure. Want to come along so we can check on that forest road? It’s a fine night.”
Edge sighed sadly. “Ye hear him? Pretty romantic shite, right lad?” He asked the sad-looking Mark. “Yer not crying back there are ye now?”
“No,” Mark said sniffling.
“Come here,” Edge snapped. “Fuck’s sake!”
“No I’m fine mister Edge.”
“I’m moving,” Lear grunted cutting them off. “Keep your distance but stay within sight.”
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The motherfucker had bolted for the woods leaving the wagon behind.
The third of the night. Three of his friends didn’t run though and Lear decided to plunge right between them to make it interesting. He kicked his legs hard. The horse jumped forward and Lear’s naked blade hacked a mounted Issir at the ribs, the sword thudding then tearing at cloth and flesh. The sound of bones crackling and hot blood gushing out coming soon after.
Horses neighed disturbed, the driver letting go of the reins in the narrow forest road and jumping up to deal with him. Lear snapped his left arm out, fingers clenched in a fist and punched the shortsword wielding second rider right at the knuckles. Broke three of his fingers and ruined the grip the cutthroat had on the weapon. A man screamed in panic, the driver leaped from the wagon to get at Lear, but the alert bounty hunter snapped his heels and moved the horse two meters forward.
The driver’s roaring plunge at the void left behind spectacularly ineffective. He landed badly turning a knee the wrong way, bone shattering and tearing at the joint through his hemp pants. Edge who rode behind Lear in a more sensible manner approached the howling like a dog getting his balls cut off Issir and stabbed him once in the face. Edge cursed as the man jerked his head aside and the blade plucked out only the left eye, then sat back on the saddle twisting his torso a bit to angle it better and tried again. This time shoving a foot of blade down the man’s mouth, the point of the sword breaking out of the back of his cranium.
“Heavens above!” Mark gasped at the brutality, eyes glued on the vicious wounds Edge had inflicted and missing out as Lear hacked the injured Issir low opening a gash on his thigh. Flipped the sword around and sawed off the stirrups bringing their opponent down.
“Move!” Edge barked with a glare and Lear clicked his tongue to turn his horse and go after the man that had run away.
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“Stop right there!” A man yelled hiding behind a pine tree. Slim figure lost in darkness. “I’ve a crossbow trained on you.”
Lear halted his horse briefly. Then he pulled at the reins to turn it around slowly. As he’d guessed the man couldn’t really see him in the pitch black. Well, the sun was coming out slowly but in the forest you wouldn’t know it. Matter of fact it was darker now than it was a moment afore.
He swung a leg over the animal’s hind side, keeping the balance and the reins with his right hand that had gripped the horn tightly.
“What do you want?” The man asked.
Lear’s right boot had touched the ground. He switched hands and freed his other leg as well. The horse neighed and walked away from him, hooves heard clearly inside the forest. Lear breathed out waiting for the ambusher to make his move.
He hadn’t seen a crossbow on the fleeing man. He hadn’t seen much in the brouhaha and the darkness of the path but still… Lear pursed his mouth. The horse had stopped at the edge of an opening between two old pines. The ground covered with grass catching the animal’s attention. A branch snapped five meters to his right and Lear moved that way as it was obvious the man was legging it again.
But it ain’t easy running inside a forest when it’s dark. Eh, ain’t easy running inside a forest when it isn’t and some would go as far as to say that the forest ain’t for running period. Unless yer father was a deer.
Then you’re fine.
Lear found the man sprawled in a heap near some exposed roots, bleeding down his face and groaning something fierce. A dry but very sharp broken branch still attached on a fallen trunk had stabbed him at the right ankle good.
In from one side and out of the other.
“ARRGH!” The Lorian moaned when he kicked him once in the ribs.
“Drop the weapon,” Lear counseled the pale-faced ruffian.
White as a sheet he was but for all the blood.
“I got no weapon fuck’s sake! Argh, it’s in the bone!” The man screamed when Lear grabbed his foot to extract it from the bloody branch. “LEAVE IT!”
“You’ll bleed out,” Lear said and whistled for his horse or Edge to hear him. He didn’t yell out of caution.
“I don’t know you,” the man hissed, through his teeth between shudders.
“Where is the Albino? Is that you?”
“It’s just a fucking moniker for crying out loud! The lads are making fun of me!” The man protested and grabbed at the cut on his head.
“Where were you heading with the wagon?” Lear asked him.
“Outside Irde. There is a small cabin there, hunters use. Near a natural spring. Deep in the woods,” the man blurted out quickly. “You got to help me out here.”
“How deep?”
“Three kilometers. You got to head northwest right next to the old path. Sweet lady of the woods I’m losing too much blood!”
“How many?” Lear asked patiently as he wasn’t in any particular hurry.
“I don’t know. I only talk with Paros!” The man groaned when Lear sneakily dislodged the sharp stick from his mauled ankle. “GAAH!”
“Shut up,” Lear barked and slapped him hard.
“I’m in pain!”
“Shut yer mouth else I’ll cut your tongue out,” Lear hissed and grabbed him by the collar.
“Murder!” The man screamed and Lear punched him once in the throat. A quick jab that cut his voice short. He collapsed to his knees then rolled away from the damaged and bleeding ankle with desperate moans of agony.
“The driver in the second wagon. Did you kill him?” Lear asked stooping over his sweaty pale face.
“It wasn’t me.”
“Yer their leader.”
“I’m the team’s jester! Pier is the fucking leader. The tall dude driving the last wagon!”
“Cut the crap.”
“You got the wrong man! I’m just a lowly lackey!” The man protested and Lear punched him in the throat again to shut him up.
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Edge was nowhere to be seen when they reached the path. The young Mark missing as well. Lear thought initially he’d lost his way in the woods, but the sun was coming up and its morning light penetrated the thorny leaves and thin branches before his very eyes.
He needed no other guide to find the east and that was where the path had been. He was in the right place. Edge had moved. Lear turned to check on the fainting ‘Albino’ he had loaded on the saddle not to carry him through the woods and heard horses approaching. A lot of horses.
The bounty hunter loosened his collar a bit, neck drenched in sweat from all the exertion despite the chill under the pines and put his humid glove back on. Cracked his fingers and neck in turn, then turned to watch the first of the riders arriving trotting up the path from the direction of the junction.
Old Roland heard them and ducked for cover bless him, Lear decided revising his previous assessment. He stepped in front of the laden horse and set his feet firmly on the three meter wide forest road.
Good that you didn’t yell for them earlier.
The first rider, a Lorian wearing leather armour, with plate at the shoulder pads pulled at the reins hard to stop his mount. He reached with his right hand and unsheathed a longsword, left it hanging loose down the sides, the point of the blade directed at the ground. A professional not wanting to tire his arm. Another rider appeared behind him with a spear in hand. A third carrying a bow and wearing a leather gambeson, over a dark tunic. Then Fausto, his sword sheathed. The Lesia scion halted his horse and examined Lear’s sweaty and dirty face with interest.
Eleonora’s voice was heard, her horse parked too far back for Lear to see.
“What is it?” The woman asked, lovely Flauegran accent singing inside the woods.
Fausto glanced back at her amused.
“I think he found him dear. I’ll be damned. He caught the Albino! Hah-Ahaha!” Fausto chuckled his mask of indifference cracking unable to conceal his delight.
“Is that him then?” Eleonora asked hoarsely.
> Soon as this ungodly war is over, Sir Laurent had told him two decades in the past, the large razor clearing his snow-burned skin from the week’s growth easily. I’m taking my kids away from the bank’s clutches.
>
> Where will you go? Lear had asked him curious. Why leave land, coin and titles behind?
>
> I’ll go to Raoz or Regia and take them with me. Make an honest living there, Sir Laurent D’Orsi had replied and folding the cleaned razor carefully he offered it to the thoughtful Lear. His words cryptic to the mercenary officer back then. Take it. Shave that thing off Lear. A man needs to be presentable even if he’s poor as dirt or scarred. There’s no dirt or rot this blade can’t cut away.
>
> I can’t take this, Lear had protested with a frown.
>
> You shall owe me a favor, the knight replied soberly. And I’ll owe you one if you get us out of this war in one piece.
>
> Lear had taken the custom-made razor much to the knight’s appreciation.
>
> It was a good blade.
>
> One day we’ll measure our souls on the scales Captain Hik, the Knight of Lesia had continued and doing this crap or serving my family’s masters will leave us all with nothing to show for a life.
>
> I don’t want that for my kids even if it’s too late for me and the same goes for you I reckon, Sir Laurent had finished and headed for his warhorse. The waiting Tussio gave him the reins. The knight paused for a moment before getting on the saddle and added with a reassuring smile at the numbly watching them Lear Hik. You know, I think it is never too late.
>
> To get out was his meaning.
>
> Half an hour later the knight had breathed his last. Twenty years and some change later Jacomo had sold his then unborn daughter to the McClean’s.
>
>
Ah, a numb Lear thought pushing the memories away and stepped forward to better use the sword he’d instinctively unsheathed. The man standing next to Fausto raised his loaded bow, left eye closing slowly to better aim. The veteran bounty hunter tensed up, grip stiffening on the leather encased handle and the archer loosed the arrow without warning. It whipped angrily a meter over the flinching Lear’s head and thumped somewhere behind him.
The ‘Albino’ let out a hoarse snorting sound like he was drowning in his own blood and then a loud thud was heard when a body hit the ground. The horse neighing disturbed behind him.
“Well, that’s out of the way,” Fausto said relieved standing back on the saddle and turning to the Bank’s agents ordered dispassionately. “Finish him off too. He’ll never tell us what he learned.”
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